


The Sunspear And The Last Dragon

by TheThreeEyedRaven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Minor Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Multi, Other, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark - Freeform, Sansa & Sandor - Freeform, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThreeEyedRaven/pseuds/TheThreeEyedRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true. From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold? Stay tuned to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escape From Kings Landing - Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! This is a collaboration work and it will have many chapters before we are finished.  
> It has been a while since we have posted a story, so take it easy on us!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true. From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold? Stay tuned to find out.

Her bedchamber was black as pitch. Sansa barred the door and fumbled through the dark, to the window. When she ripped back the drapes, her breath caught in her throat. The only sound she could hear, was that of her heart ringing in her ears… Dudunk, over and over, the sound echoed… Ser Ilyn is here to take me her head thought… He would, tears filled her eyes. Cersei had proclaimed, ‘Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive.’ I will not suffer the same fate as my Father, I will not. It was dark in her chamber; she only possessed a single skinny, tall candle. She used her hand to shelter the flame. 

Her head was swimming from the wine. The southern sky was aswirl with glowing, shifting colors and the reflections of the great fires that burned below. This was something she didn’t want to think about, but the green light, danced on the tide and the color shifted with the waves through her bedroom window.

Sansa backed away from the window, retreating toward the safety of her bed. I’ll go to sleep, she told herself, and when I wake it will be a new day. Stannis would have taken the city, he won’t hurt me, she thought. “I am the first born daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Surely, he will honour my Father's loyalty to his cause,” she whispered aloud. Her heart hurt, as she began to feel like the small walls of The Red Keep were driving her mad, much like the Mad King himself. “Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead. Am I to live? Or shall I die?… The thought made a knot in her stomach, she closed her eyes and she could see her Father, see his face as Joffrey ordered Ser Ilyn “Bring me his head!”

Suddenly something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist. She opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down over her face, smothering her. His fingers were rough and callused, and sticky with blood. “Little bird. I knew you’d come.” The voice was a drunken rasp. She saw him for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face was as dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog’s in the sudden glare. 

He’s drunk, she thought… “If you scream I’ll kill you. Believe that.” He pulled his hand from her mouth. He had a full flagon of wine and it rested on the small table next to her bed. He placed it to his lips and took a long pull…  
The green flames from the black water danced on the burnt side of his face. “Bloody dwarf. Should have killed him. Years ago. He’s dead, they say.” She was filled with fright, a cold shiver ran up her spine. He is drunker than I’ve ever seen him she thought. 

“Why, why are you here?”

“The Blackwater is on fire,” he mumbled. “I’m Going.” 

 

She tried to wriggle free, but his grasp was iron. “Going where?” Sansa proclaimed. 

Sandor took a deep breath, “North maybe, could be, I could take you home… Take you to Winterfell, they are all afraid of me, no one would stand in our way.” Her throat was dry and tight with fear.

“Stannis won’t hurt me” she said. 

Sandor grab her arm even tighter than before. “Look at me” Sansa eyes opened wide. “The Lannisters are killers, Stannis is a killer, your Brother, your Father, they are all killers, so you best get used to looking at them”. There was a kindness in his eyes, a understanding that she hadn’t noticed before. 

 

Sansa let the words escape her lips. “You won’t hurt me?” Sandors voice was harsh and it broke as he spoke. 

“No Little Bird, I won’t hurt you”. Sandor started to walk to the door, his hand reached towards the bolt that held the door tightly shut. 

“Wait!” would she go? 

“Wait?” he huffed like a dog, barely turning his gaze to look back at her. “You don’t want to go with me.” There was some kind of hurt in his voice. Maybe it was for the fact that he knew he’d get paid to take her home; after all, she was high born, and no one knew where Arya was. That made her the only high born daughter of the Stark’s that was known.

“I’ll go,” Sansa was breathless, and part of her hair fell in her eyes. The crimson gleam blocked her vision. “I’ll go with you. If I stay here, Joffrey will win. I’m a slave to his will.” 

“Fuck the king,” Sandor hissed. “You cannot take much, little bird. You must leave behind your fancy treasures. They cannot come with you.”

The bird pushed her hair back from her eyes, and gave a small smile to Sandor. But her tattered cloak would do. She swirled it around her body, tying it in place and picking up her sentimental item she could not leave, the doll her father gave her. With one last look at the place she’d so recently been forced to call home, she followed close behind Sandor and left the Red Keep. If I come here again, it’ll be to meet the same fate my father had, she thought.

They walked closely, reaching Sandor’s horse, and mounting it with ease. Sandor pulled Sansa onto the horse, having no problems with it and climbing up with her. It made Sansa nervous for him to have his hands on her. But she remembered the last time a man put his hands on her, and how Sandor was the one who saved her. That memory had long since passed, and she was trying to look at the road ahead. So young, and maybe having to grow up far too fast. 

The Mud Gate was riddled with bodies, some still a flame, some black as pitch. No one, said a word as they weaved through the mounds of steaming flesh; but Sansa could see the eyes upon her. She pulled her cloak tighter, hoping it would hide her crimson hair. “Hold on Little Bird” Sansa heard Sandor say. Stranger seemed to have the same fear of fire as his master did, and he broke into a full gallop the moment they cleared the twisted, burned corpses. 

My new life begins, she thought, tightening her eyes shut as her heart raced. They rode for an eternity, Sansa could feel the stiffness in her joints; truth be told, she hadn't ridden like this since she was a child. 

Sansa forced herself to open her eyes as they came to a sudden stop. “Where are we?” she said, the word sticking in her throat. She looked around, the fog was thick and traces of smoke twirled and danced within it. Sandor was so quiet. It was unbearable to not know what was going on. The thoughts were stuck in her mind. “Are we to sleep here?” suddenly she was filled with fear and Sandor’s continued silence confirmed her dread. 

“I told you!” He rasped. 

 

“You will have to do without your highborn fancies,” the bird mocked, and felt stupid shortly after. I am a stupid girl. The stress of this ride had done so much, and now she tried to hold back her tears that had been welling in her soft, ice colored eyes, but it was no use. The battle, the escape, it was too much. This was one of those nights she’d have nightmares about for the next fortnight. Adding another curse to her mind, curses that Kings Landing had brought, and Joffrey along with it. It wasn’t her father's fault, how could he have known? Maybe it was his fault, now, that she was beginning to think like a rebel; time to turn against the capitol. Thoughts trotted through her mind about her family, and how they were all fighting for revenge and she hadn’t done a single thing for her father. She was captured, and left to die like the rotting corpses of Joffrey’s foes, that hung atop the walls of the castle. But Sandor had given her a chance she never knew she had. Now with a second chance, maybe she can make this end differently.

But she was nothing but a little bird, as Sandor called her. Lost, alone and weak; the thoughts of a Stark had to be somewhere in her mind. Somewhere, there was a wolf’s mind, and now more than ever, she had to find it.

Sandor pulled the blanket from behind Stranger's saddle and laid it under at the feet of a great Ironwood tree. He walked to wear Sansa sat across Stranger’s back, a placed his hand softly on her waist. “You’ll be needing your rest girl, if they aren’t all dead, they’ll come looking for us before long.” His words were more gentle than she had ever heard them; and although she was frightened, cold and every muscle in her body tensed with each breath she took, she found comfort in them. And as he set her down, and walked away, her knees weakened with angst. 

“Yes my… Yes, Sandor,” catching herself before she could utter that phrase that she had otherwise believed would anger him. Certainly if I called him ‘My Knight’ he’d fuss about it. She remembered how he was the first time she’d seen him. riding into Winterfell, adoring his dogs helm, it seemed all but lost, now. But she remembered someone calling him a knight, and him grumbling at them. At this moment, she didn’t have the strength to fight with him. 

The ground was hard, but she was free; freer than she had been since she left the North. Oh how the feeling relieved her. It was as if she’d drank too much wine, and walked a thousand miles, as her head spun. 

“You alright, girl?” he narrowed his eyes at her, questions glazing through his sober eyes.

“I’m free, Sandor. It’s a lot to take in,” her voice shook as she spoke.

“Aye, a lot less to take in than what lies ahead, Little Bird. You best to forget what’s behind us, as you won’t be seeing it any longer. And what is ahead is a world that’ll change you forever. You’re not the same girl who came to the capitol, so long ago.” It was very wise for Sandor to say such a thing, and even more wiser for Sansa to listen. But it was hard for her to think in such a way. 

She watched as Sandor laid down old cloth, and things for them to lay upon. It was certainly different than any life she had to look back on now.

As the night grew colder, Sansa and Sandor were drifting into sleep, and nothing around them to hear, but birds and nature, made Sansa nervous. This was a sound she knew well, from her trip to Kings Landing, and how the blue birds would wake her up in Winterfell. But this was a different sound, or maybe, a different Sansa.

Sansa awoke to the sound of Sandor’s heavy mail clanging. He was standing next to his great steed and he fumbling through the pouch, that rested on it’s neck. Sandor pulled a piece of brown oat bread that he had taken from the kitchens and tore it in half offering it to Sansa. “Thank you” she said, always remembering her manners.

The smoke still rose through the air. She could hear the faint sound of crows somewhere far away in the distance. 

“Are we to head north?” Sansa said taking small breaths as she devoured the oat bread. Aye, north. Sandor tightened Stranger’s saddle and fastened his things to it. 

“We will head North. Your brother and mother will pay a king's ransom when I return you to them”. 

“And what of you? Will you stay with my brother’s men; support his cause?” The Hound laughed. 

“And if I did, would that please you, Little Bird? Do you wish to stay close to me?” Sandor moved so quickly, before she knew it, he was standing in front of her, looking down at her, waiting on her answer. 

“I, I…” Sansa couldn’t muster the words to answer him, for her heart beat echoed through her ears. She began to feel her cheeks warm up. Sandor placed his hand on her chin and gently positioned her face to where their eyes met. “I would like that Ser.” 

“Would you now? How would your high born mummy feel about that?” 

Sansa felt her desire turn to anger; “why are you always to hateful?!” 

Sandor pulled Sansa’s face closer to his, she could feel his ragged breath on her face. She closed her eyes tight, she could hear him say a single word; “Sansa…”  
Without warning, he pushed his lips against hers, his calloused hands caressing the soft skin around her chin. Sansa could feel the warmth growing inside her like a fire, quickening with each passing second. Suddenly, he pulled away, and she felt empty, longing for more, to her surprise. With blinking eyes, she tried to steady herself.

“Its time we started out Little Bird, save your displeasure for when we get out of this mess.” His armour clanked as he climbed upton Stranger, and wasted no time grabbing her by the arm and pulling her over to Stranger’s side. She couldn’t look at him, Sansa was too busy questioning herself. Her brain was telling her that it was supposed to happen, and now her wanting him to kiss her was okay. But that wasn’t the way a highborn lady thought.” Lady’s don’t do such things,” She muddled under her breath. 

She felt her cheeks turn red as she looked away. Had he heard her? It mattered not, the sun was shining and they were galloping forward, toward her family. 

Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around Sandors waist, and held on tight. There was much more in store. Sandor’s words running through her mind. “Would you now?”


	2. Waking Up - Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true. From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold? Stay tuned to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our first story, so please take it easy on us. It's in the works. Enjoy the read!

He was sick, and the air smelt foul with the stench of burnt flesh. Oh, what was it that he did to himself this time? Tyrion Lannister, a lord of Casterly Rock was an unknown warrior on the battle field. He was well known for being a drunken little tatterdemalion, and a master in the houses of whores. The night before was scarred into his mind, and the feelings blurred together into one full night of hate, fire and disdain. We stood up for the city, he thought. So why was I attacked? His thoughts ran wild before his eyes could even opened. Yes, it was hard to move, and hard to breathe, but as a newly found warrior, he tried to not let it bother him. In the quiet, there was nothing left for him to do but die in the base of his thoughts as they bounced around in his skull. Maybe I’m dying. After all, I doubt anyone is looking for me.

“M-M-My lord,” Podrick whispered, in a soft, sad voice, breaking Tyrion’s concentration on feelings of death. As he looked up, Podrick stood, filthy from the battle, and obviously exhausted. Tyrion gave him the best smile he could, under the rags, and blood that covered his face. “You’re awake. May I get you anything?” breath staggered as he spoke.

“A nice cup of wine, Pordrick, thank you,” muscles in his stomach tightened as he sat up and tried his best not to shudder at the pain. “Then do us both a favor and sit down and get some rest,” as the words exited his mouth, feelings of pain shifted all over his body from his stomach, to his back and then returning to his face. He lifted his hand to feel over the rags that covered his obvious wounds. The pads of his fingers stung on the cloth that covered his open flesh. Memory, right now for Tyrion was unclear, and not at all what he wanted to think about. Maybe it was the stinging of his wounds that fogged his memory. After all, his mind was always clear. It was his best weapon. Of course, through the laws of nature, or Cersei’s damned tits, or something along those lines, that is when the night returned to him. Everything became a little more clear. He knew he had to thank Podrick for saving his life. That was certain. He remembered leading the battle. That was even more certain. He remembered Joffrey running away like the scared muculent little bitch he is. But now, what was going on while he was asleep? What had happened in the short time he was asleep? How long was he asleep?

He was proud of his speech that rallied the men. There are brave men knocking on our door! Let’s go kill them. He was brave, and now he could say for certain that he felt brave, and he felt wise. No more room left for foolishness, or for drinking games. He wasn’t going to give up his wine, but he needed to think straight.

“My old friend,” a familiar snake of a voice sparkled through the room, and he noticed that Lord Varys was sitting in the corner, awaiting a good moment to speak. “You are a very brave man” he did his best to smile. The gold cloths that covered his body shimmered in the light that broke through the window. 

“Varys. What is news from the city?” Tyrion’s pain grew worse, and Podrick handed him wine, which he quickly used to numb the pain. “This place doesn't stop for anything. Surely there is news.”

“Worry for yourself, My lord. The gods know no one else will; not right now. The city can wait. You’ve given them enough of your time.” 

Varys’s words sunk into Tyrion’s mind like pen to parchment, as he spoke. He should’ve known that no one would recognize his well doings. No one ever recognizes when he helps. And now, more than anything, he was in pain because of it. Yet, he was proud that he could now say he’s been in battle, and all the men that claim to be real could no longer look down upon him. Not for that reason, anyway. He had become a warrior, and he had done it half the size of every other man.

“I can tell you this, though;” Varys’s sighed. “Sansa Stark has gone missing.”

Tyrion immediately tried to jump up, and quickly fell back into the clothes that covered him, when he realized that he was no longer in the tower of the hand of the king. This was a small room, ironic in the fact that it was a perfect size for him. But the walls were cracking, and all his things were left to gather dust, and him along with them. Many of his things were missing, for he knew all of this things wouldn’t fit into this small room. It was to make fun of him, of course. Thats why they did it; that’s why they always did it. Probably Joffrey behind this one.

Of course, Podrick was there, by his side, offering counseling words and trying his best to care for the half man. Without that boy, Tyrion would be dead, and Cersei would’ve gotten everything she wanted. We couldn’t let that happen, right? Why would we let the world do that?

“What do you mean, she is missing?” the half man coughed.

“We think she’s ran away. Possibly gone with Sandor Clegane. Your sister has put a bounty out for him, and four hundred gold dragons to who ever brings Sansa Stark back to the capitol alive.”

“Ah, I must love my sisters demented mind,” he rolled his eyes and let out a big huff, as little Podrick brought him more wine. His lips were about to embrace the cup when he blurted, “Why would she go with him?” Tyrion's eyebrows rose in thought. He began to ponder the situation, and wonder what, or why Sansa would leave. It is true, that he cared about Sansa. Keeping her out of harms way, and knowing how much Eddard had sacrificed for her, made things differ than he'd felt with others. She didn’t deserve the life his family had forced on her. No one deserved it, and she was left by a trick of fate to be Joffrey’s toy. And now, he wouldn’t be able to protect her from him, because he lost his power over Joffrey. “Why would she?” he spoke mainly to himself.

“Sansa is naive, for the most part,” Varys sneered. “And the Hound is smart. He probably offered to keep her safe, and take her home. Doing it for the money, of course. He’ll become a sell sword and hide from the capitol.” 

“But she is not ignorant,” they both nodded in agreement, as the lion spoke. “She learned how to be smart up here. When she first arrived in Kings Landing, then she was an ignorant stupid girl, and that’s exactly what she let Joffrey believe she’s always been. But she watches, and she learns.”

Tyrion and Varys quickly decided to change the subject, as the walls could quickly form ears. They both knew that Cersei’s ears were everywhere. But instead of silence, they spoke of other things. 

“What is on the agenda for today, M’lord?” Podrick asked.

“Well, considering I expected to be dead today, I’m not quite sure, Podrick. But we will figure that out.” Tyrion offered his best smile. “And what of Lord Varys today?”

“No one will write about what you did for the city, Lord Tyrion. They won’t sing about your bravery; but we will never forget what you did for us. You’re the bravest warrior with nothing to show for it. And for that, I am sorry.” It looked like Varys needed to say that. Everyone could see that. Tyrion was proud of have a friend, someone who knew what he did. At least then, his story may live on, at least a little bit. But Varys looked hurt, like he wanted to help more than he could.

The squire began to gather dressings as Varys spoke, and walked over to Tyrions bed. He began helping the little lord change his dressings as he spoke, “accept for one hell of a scar, M’Lord.” For the first time, in what seemed like forever, Tyrion chuckled. This was what he had to look forward to? Good conversations with the only person left who could care about him, the very lot who saved his life. Guess it could be much worse.

With that, Varys soared to the door with ease, and at the other side stood Shae. Tyrion felt bad for a moment, having not thought of her since last night. He should be wondering if she was okay, or if something had happened to her. She would know more than anyone else what happened to Sansa last night, since they have her posing as Sansa’s handmaiden. The moment he was injured at the battle field, all he wanted to do was tell her that he loved her. No one loved Shae more than Tyrion did. If he could move, he would’ve gone to her side. He would’ve asked Podrick and Varys to leave, and taken Shae to his bed. He would’ve laid her down, and tossed the hem of her pink, long dress aside. The gods were good to him after all.

As if reading his mind, Varys and Podrick soon left in silence when Shae entered the room. She was graceful in her steps to his bed side, as she climbed in next to him and smiled. “My lion,” her eyes were sad at his wounds, but she didn’t flinch and his gaze at her didn’t falter. And now, they sat in silence, clinging to eachothers heartbeats. There was nothing left to say, nor anything for them to do. Tyrion was replaced as hand of the king by his father, whom originally was to be hand of the king. But by some madness, his father chose him to serve in his place, while he tried to end the war Joffrey had started. There was no way that it was accidental that Tyrion almost died, by the hand of Lannister men. 

Oh how he longed to leave, run away and never look back upon the shores of Westeros. No one cared for him, or wondered about him here; no one but Shae, yet she would go with him of course.

In the back of his mind, he wondered and worried for Sansa Stark. Something was driving here to leave here, where she was so inclined to go, with even the shallowest of characters. Fuck the City. Fuck the King. The words Clegane had spoke rang through the small lions pounding head. 

“Maybe Clegane knew more than we thought,” his words came aloud, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?” Shae was soft spoken with her tone.

“Last night, during the battle, he left. I’m told Sansa may have gone with him,” his eyes lingered on her, studying her face like he would a good book. Like one he’d already read, a few times, but still found interesting. “Do you know anything about that?”

“I told her to leave,” her hair fell in her face as she nodded. “Cersei was planning to kill her. I figured, if she stayed, and Stannis lost, Cersei would’ve found an even worse punishment than death for her. I may not know her, but that doesn’t mean I wish death on her.”

“That changes things,” he flinched as he sat back, and listened to Shae’s words. It was just like Cersei to do something horrible to the people Tyrion showed any emotion for. He didn’t know if it was because of her, or not; she was still a reached bitch. But she was Tyrion’s family.

“Cersei was being terrible to her. And Ser Ilyn was to kill all of the women, if Stannis were to sack the city. Sansa and I listened to her say it. She was drunk.”

“You saved her life,” his hands cupped her cold cheeks and their eyes began to linger on each other. Yes, he could say he loved her, without a shadow of a doubt. But no one could ever love him. “You’re good at saving lives; you see the best in people. Even a monster, like me.”

“A monster? I see a brave, amazing man who risked his life to prove a point. It was not very wise of you, but it was still brave. For a small man, you cast a very large shadow.”

Their eyes closed softly as their lips touched. Again, love was flowing through both of them, combining their energy through the silence around them. But Tyrion had no time to linger, and no time to think. For now, Shae and her beauty couldn’t be his top priority, since people wanted him dead. It made his heart ache to think about how he had to leave her. But she deserved much more than he could give her, at this current moment in time. Once again, his family ruins his happiness, and instead of leaving them, he runs to it. They’re his people. He’s good at outsmarting them; even though it’ll someday get him killed. How was he to love her, when he was putting her in danger? Maybe that was why he felt like she couldn’t love him. It had nothing to do with their love, but how he could not protect her. A shadow cannot protect you.

“Shae, you must go,” he nodded. “If they find you here, they’re going to think something of it.”

“What you don’t want me? Since when do you turn down a chance to fuck me?” disdain covered her tone, and the soft carefulness in her voice had gone. She was annoyed. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“Shae, I can’t let anyone kill you; right now, everyone is trying to kill me. If I don’t figure this out, you’ll get hurt. I couldn’t live with myself if you died.”

“I’ll die for you,” the love in her eyes proved every syllable of her words. 

“I know,” he muttered. “That’s what scares me.”

In silence, Shae stood and left him alone. The door slamming, with a large echo as she ran out of the room. But not a tear ran down her cheek. Surely she’d be back soon, and he’d have to make arrangements to force her from Kings Landing, even if it meant hurting her, to save her life. Now was Tyrion’s time to figure out what was going on.

He stood from his bed, aching and groaning as he tried to get dressed in his best clothes. A pair of trousers, and his best leather vest, crested with the Lannister symbol. He tore the bandages from his face, and took one look in the mirror. For the man who sliced his face open did a good job at damaging his appearance, but he could still see himself in it. The Lannister nose was still there, and his eyes sat, with pain in them, where they always had. His complexion was only changed by the red, thick line that started beneath his hair line on the right side of his forehead, and ended against his jaw bone, right above his neck. Part of his nose was deformed from the blade, but it was still intact. “If Podrick hadn’t shown up,” he scuffed. “Oh gods, don’t leave me now. I’m going to need a lot more than tits and wine to get me through this.”

After buttoning the last buttons of his shirt, he turned to the door and gave one last look at the tiny shit of a room they’d put him in. “Time for battle,” he mumbled. Outside the door, many people wandered the halls of the castle. Surely, the victory party hadn't ended. Bronn and Podrick both waited for Tyrion just across the hall. Bronn with a woman clinging to his side, bare skin pushing against his leather armor. Podrick only looked slightly uncomfortable, and all around people whispered about Tyrion's face. “Yes, time for battle indeed.”


	3. The Mutt And The Wolf Bitch - Sandor Clegane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear from the hearts untold, but the story that may be just as true. From places unknown, we hear of what happens when Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane decide to run away together, the night that the Battle of Blackwater takes place. In the beginning, Clegane is taken for a spin, when Sansa Stark gives him what he wants, and says fuck the king right along with him, and runs away. They disappear to go to the Twin's, and come across none other than Arya Stark, bringing the two wolves together once more. But the red wedding is foretold, and in any universe, the unfortunate event must take place. But the Bolton's capture Sansa as they begin to escape, making the Lannister's reguards no longer their concern. But, Tyrion can no longer marry Sansa, and is sent to marry a fake Arya in her place. Joffrey's story will be as appealing as it is in any place, as Obryn helps the Tyrell's take his life, with Tyrion's new bride. But the sunspear an the dragon must be brought together by none other than the lion no one saw coming. After all, a brain can be stronger than a sword. As the night's turn into day, and houses are no longer defined in the old ways, who will save the house of old, as the wolves grow cold? Stay tuned to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, to everyone who has taken an interest in our story! Please enjoy our next chapter, and get ready to see the dragon, and the flayed man himself! Stay tuned!

Sandor felt Sansa hands pressed tight against his waist. Stranger was moving faster now, the green blur of the trees was the only thing he could see out of the corner of his eye. He could feel her body bouncing agent his as they rode on into the sun, into the unknown. “Hold on little bird” He pulled the reins tight as they twisted and turned through the forest. They had been riding for some time when he noticed a glare far away in the distance. Sandor felt Sansa small form shift as he pulled Stranger to an abrupt halt. “Fucking trackers,” he said. The anger in his voice was apparent as it was true. A grunt, as if actually sounding like the animal everyone called him, Sandor jumped off Stranger to the ground and canvassed the area. Feeling like an actual dog, he gave a scuff and turned back to pick Sansa up. He lifted Sansa from the saddle, and without hesitation, pushed her under a small tree that was near the path where they stopped. Hearing to the grunt she made as he put her down, and giving a small chuckle. Without a second thought he pulled Stranger down, forcing him to the ground and laying his arm firmly against the beasts neck. 

“Who is it?” Sansa whispered. Her word smooth as the strings on a finely tuned instrument . 

“Kings, men, could be… Hard to say from here.” Sandor pulled a leather flagon of wine from his belt and took a long pull. “They’re mean to take you from me, but I won’t let them,” protectiveness coated his tone. He glanced over at Sansa, her cheeks flushed, mirroring the color of the wine, he so heartly drank. His eyes searched her body, he found pleasure in small curves of her form. She is a woman now, Sandor thought, no longer the girl that had traveled to the capital city. He wanted to tell her that he had thought of her every day since he met her that day in the cold deadness of Winterfell. He wanted to tell her that his thoughts had been filled with her every night as he laidd alone in his bed. 

The men grew closer and he could vaguely make out the sigel that wore on their breast; that of a red flayed man, hanging upside-down on a white X-shaped cross, on a black background. “Looks to be Bolton men, perhaps they are on their way to your Uncles wedding.” Sandor felt a sense of relief, until he heard to voice behind him. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He turned to see the man standing at his back, sword drawn. Nothing special of the mans form. Quite humorously, he had the form of something Sandor would use to pick his teeth.

“Do you make it a habit to sneak up on men bigger than you?” Sandor rested his hand on the great sword that rested firmly on his hip. The man paid no mind, but showed courage. “You are either the bravest, or the stupided fuck I have ever met,” a sinister grin marked Sandor’s face. 

The mans voice trembled a bit as he spoke, “there's a 100 gold dragons on your head, plenty enough for a wretch like me. If that makes me a stupid fuck, then so be it.” Without a second thought, the man lunged towards him. Sandor blood turned to fire in his veins, every movement fluid as he pulled his long sword and dispatched it deep within the mans body. His sword cut through clean through the wretched peasants flesh, disemboweling him almost instantly. The blood flowed to the ground, covering it in the crimson glaze, and oozing away from the body. 

Sandor’s vision was blurry and he felt the rush that gave him pleasure greater than any other. Maybe a moment passed, maybe more, he couldn’t say; suddenly he remembered that Sansa was under the tree where he had left her. The heat in his veins suddenly turn to desire. He walked to where is little bird was standing and pulled her to her feet. “I told you little bird, killing is the sweetest thing there is,” he didn’t give her time to argue with him. Didn’t give her the time to bore him with her sweet word,s or highborn curtsies. Sandor tangled her fine crimson curls in his calloused finger and pushed his lips to hers. “You still owe me a song little bird? Have you forgotten?” 

There was no time for words, Sandor pulled her close and continued to kiss her the way he had thought of all those night alone laying in his bed. He let his tongue dance in her warm mouth, stopping only to steal a breath for a moment. Leaving his hands to rested firmly on her back, he fought with the desire to move them lower, and caress her the way he did in his dream. Seven hells, he thought. I told her I would protect her, that she had nothing to fear. But yet at this moment, she was no safer with him than she was in the belly of the red keep. Knots began to form in his stomach, feeling more of a piece of scum than he did before. He loosened his grip, giving his sweet little bird latitude to pull away. 

Sandor moved his hands to her shoulders, and waited for her to muddle the words that would wound him more than any mans sword would. He waited for her to pull away to tell him what a vile creature he was. But there was no movement, and he felt an unexpected shock as Sansa leaned in to his form. Her lips thrust affectionately againsts his. “I knew you wouldn’t let them hurt me.” Her word were ever so soft, kind and true. They danced around Sandor like music at a grand ball. Now he was filled with dread, as he thought of his true feelings for her. It was unfair for him to think in such way, when he’s trying to bring her home, and back to her family. “You're so brave” she glimmered as she spoke, in a way she never had before.

“Careful now, little bird,” Sandor felt the heat rising inside of him, growing with each passing second. “We best be on our way, otherwise I might not be able to stop myself.” Sandor moved his hands down her arms releasing his grip from that which he wanted more than anything he had ever known. Sansa’s face was as red as the little flowers that adorned the ground where she once stood. As she shifted her hair from her face, she moved away and walked from the gore he’d left. Light danced off her hair, eyes and gown as she approached Stranger, and ran her fingers over his front leg.

“Then we better be off,” her voice sounded almost hurt, and that broke Sandor slightly. But he had to have a straight head, to ride.

Fuck, not enough wine in the world.

They rode deep into the night, the sun was resting on the tree tops when they finally found a soft grove, buried deep within the forest. It was twilight, and the light of the blazing sphere kissed the ground as it fell below the horizon. Sansa waited for no invitation, she pulled the pouch from Stranger’s back that held the oat bread. Sandor had taken it from the kitchen of the royal palace before their escape. “Are you going to eat, my… my Sandor?” he could tell that the word stuck in her throat. 

“You remember your courtesies.” He chucked. “Even out here girl; even with me?” his words were condescending and he could see the disdain in her brilliant eyes. “I meant no offence,” Sandor found her hard to read and maybe that was part of what made him want her.

The sky turned to a glazed shade of black and the stars twinkled. They were much easier to read out here, in the wilderness. “I have a question for you, Little Bird.” He could fill the full effects of the wine he had been consuming since they found that place in the trees. “Before, you didn’t pull away?’ Why?” He looked over at Sansa, the moon shimmed on her lips and he felt his desire grow inside him. 

“I...I…” she murmured.

“HaHa,” he didn't have time to slow his reaction. The laugh escaped his lips without warning. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I was thinking of you? You were the only one who protected me; the others… the other kings guard, they showed me no kindness.” He looked Sansa straight in the eyes, he could feel her wanting to pull her gaze from him, but yet she was unwavering. 

“I meant no offence little bird,” he finished the wine in the stained leather flagon that he had been clinging to while they rested their tired bodies beneath that small grove of trees. Sandor’s arms ached from riding.

It was cold that night, colder than it had been in the capital. Sandor had long since closed his eyes. He felt a faint touch. It was as soft as silk, and gentle as the breeze that blew in from the west. He first thought to pull his sword, to quickly dispatch whatever it was that invaded his space. But he heard her voice, “I’m cold,” she said. “Can I lay with you?” 

He moved his arm, giving her the space she needed to curve her small form next to his body. “Aye, you must be cold.” Sandor laid still as Sansa wiggled and found a place next to him. He suddenly felt a feeling he had never felt. That of keenness, which he had never had the pleasure of enduring. How he wanted to act like a beast, he knew how to behave as such. He understood the needs that flooded his senses, but this was different. It was surreal. It was strange. He wanted to act on the primal incense that told him to just take her, and act on what he was; a dog… But something stopped him; perhaps it was the innocence in her movements.

Sandor has long since drifted off to sleep when he felt the cold steel pressed against his throat. The sharpness as a feeling he knew all too well. His hand searched desperately for his sword. Fumbling clumsily, he only found the dry leather to fassed it. 

“Ilyn Payne...  
The Hound...  
Polliver...  
The Mountain…” her small stature took form as Sandor’s eyes regained their focus. She was bent over him like the small wolf of her house, aching to kill her prey. 

“You aim to kill a man in his sleep girl? Do it!” he grabbed the childs hand. “Push that dagger into my throat, watch me as I take my last breath. I killed your butcher boy…” 

“Arya?” Sandors eyes redirected their attention to Sansa, her tattered hair was whipping around in the wind. “Arya? Is that you?”

“Bugger this!” finding his way to his feet. He tossed Arya off him like a dog would flick a flea. “Come here you little wolf bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> © We're glad you are enjoying our story, but as the Lannister's send their regards, please believe the three eyed raven's will send theirs. This story is for enjoyment and is not affiliated with GRRM. But any use of our material without our consent is prohibited. By the old gods and the new, we send you our seven blessings of enjoyment on our journey.


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